


Je ne Regrette Rien

by MrMundy



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, and these two men slowly trusting each other, just a really short drabble on my roleplay blog, some soft gentle cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 13:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMundy/pseuds/MrMundy
Summary: Sniper and Spy take a moment to cuddle.





	Je ne Regrette Rien

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't really been posting tf2 fic. Maybe I'll start again. Whatever the case, I really miss the dynamic between my Sniper and my friend's Spy. Sorry if it flows weird - originally I had my Sniper's name in there, but I decided to change it all to just 'Sniper' and didn't do another readthrough. 
> 
> Sorry for how short this is, but sometimes you just need to write a decent cuddle, y'know?

He didn’t ever imagine that his life would come together like this – curled together with his sworn rival, a man he gets paid to kill daily. Sniper’s hands slide up the Spy’s back, feeling the raised skin of scars healed long ago. He knows that his own back is quite similar, though his own wounds not so old; remnants of respawn glitches, much like the gash across his cheek and nose and ear.

Most of which caused by the man he has in his arms right now, the man pressing soft lips to his collarbone in a soothing manner. He relishes it, closes his eyes to take in the feeling of the Spy being gentle with him. The Spy’s hand rests on his hip, every so often his fingernails scraping gently against his skin.

It feels as though they’ve taken years just to get to this point, where instead of crossed knives and blood they have trust and comfort tucked away in Sniper’s campervan. Sniper tilts his chin down, pressing his lips against the top of the Spy’s head. He tries not to think about the way the mask feels under his lips, about how he’d much rather be kissing the man’s face without the obstruction of fabric in the way. He can make do, he can wait – he knows that full trust is not something given easily, especially by someone like the Spy. He knows so little about his partner’s past ( and he knows that the Spy knows most of his, if not all - it’s his job, after all ) and yet he wants to know more, wants him to share everything with him.

He doesn’t even know his name. Calls him ‘spook’ and ‘spy’ and sometimes ‘love’ or 'darling’ – but it’s enough for right now. He is, he thinks, deeply in love with the Spy. An unfortunate occurrence, given that they’re on opposite sides of a useless and unending war, and a difficult thing for him to admit to even himself, but he knows, in the back of his mind somewhere behind iron walls and locked doors that he does love him.

He doesn’t think much on that, though – he hides away from the thought of love and instead just lets himself be gentle and soft and open.

( though isn’t that just what love is, his mind offers, and he shoves that behind a locked door in his mind to sort out later )

He feels the Spy shift, pulling himself from where he’s tucked under his chin. Catches his eye for just a moment, gives him a smile that speaks more than he realises, his eyes squinted into an expression that tells so much of his adoration.

“Don’t look,” the Spy says, voice low, his accent strong and laced with tired slowness. Sniper tilts his chin upward, lets his partner shuffle around. He hears the telltale rasp of fabric and can only assume that he’s getting dressed to leave. So the Sniper closes his eyes and breathes, slow and long as he assumes the Spy is getting ready to leave.

Instead, he feels the too-thin mattress dip beside him once more and feels the Spy tuck himself back under his chin, except this time there’s less fabric and the obvious feeling of hair against his chin. He’s curious, he’ll admit. The Spy clings to him, pulling himself tightly against Sniper's chest, hiding his features against the Sniper’s bare skin. He ventures tilting his chin down and feels the Spy’s arm tighten, feels him shake his head.

“Don’t,” he hears. And so Sniper relents, choosing instead to massage his fingers into the Spy’s scalp, comforting and slow. His curiosity can wait – his partner’s comfort is more important than his own desire to see his face.

“Thank you.” Spy mumbles, barely audible against Sniper’s chest. He smiles and hums his response, rubs his fingers against the base of Spy’s neck, lets his fingers comb upward into his hair.

They both relax, eyes slipping closed for some much needed rest. Sniper hopes he’ll wake with the Spy still in his arms.

The smile against his skin tells him that’s the most likely outcome, and he sighs contentedly.


End file.
